


Coming Home

by ellewrites



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Explicit Language, M/M, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellewrites/pseuds/ellewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was in Vegas that I realized my mistake. Couldn’t have been further away but sometimes maybe you have to get as far away as earthly possible before you can get any perspective. But there was something about being in the crappy little hotel room, laying on the bed, still fully dressed, watching a roach crawl up the cracked plaster to the ceiling and I realized I missed you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_Murdered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Murdered/gifts).



> Pairings/Warnings: 2x3, AU, first person POV, angst, sap, lots of bad language, lots of bad life choices (namely drinking and driving), beta'd poorly by me myself and I
> 
> Notes: I actually have this four part AU thing in my head regarding these two that I don't particularly have a lot of confidence about actually writing and so hopefully this will get it out of my system. The song this is based on is off Butch Walker's new EP "Peachtree Battle" and I'm not sure it's something played outside Atlanta? Anyway it's likely not as happy a song as I'm going to chose to interpret it. =P
> 
> For the lovely Miss Murdered – for still managing to put up with me after dealing with my shit for so long. *snugs* This is also a heavy homage to her Duo. ;-)

_Singing from a ditch with a seat belt on_   
_Bet you thought I'd never say that I was wrong_   
_You never know where you're gonna find it_   
_Somewhere on the back of your eyelids_   
_The liquid truth can kill you_   
_It's a courage made a thrill for so long..._

– Butch Walker, "Coming Home"

* * *

Fuck if I'm not a goddamn pussy. I mean, damn. Here I am, tail tucked between my legs, ready to admit I was a dick because fuck all if that wasn't obvious enough by this point but still I had to go to that shitty little dive bar outside town. Know you know the one. Same shitty pleather seating, cracked and smelling like grease and smoke long gone by twenty years ago now. Same skeevy guys playing pool with their shitty tattoos and their bandanas and their blatant disrespect for their heavily make-uped partners getting trashed at the corner booth and stoned in the bathroom. Only difference is there's two more years of growth on their beards.

It was a dumb fuck stop, ya know, just killing time when hadn't I already spent enough goddamn time away? Maybe I needed a little liquid courage too, a couple beers, not enough so that I wouldn't be able to drive, but still.  _Something_.

Two years. Fuck, ya know? Didn't really know how you were going to take it. Guess it seems pretty obvious why I stopped at that fucking bar. Not like I could 'a got up the balls to just call you for fucks sake. I'm all cool self-confidence all the damn time except when it comes to you. Guess I knew how I fucked you over. Guess I was a little embarrassed, ashamed of it now, looking back, what a little bitch I'd been. It's that self-confidence, ya know? Fucks me over every time. Always think I'm gonna to do something grand, something fucking illustrious, my name in neon lights over Vegas performing to a sold out show but you know... there's the thing.

It was in Vegas that I realized my mistake. Couldn't have been further the fuck away I guess but sometimes maybe you have to get as far away as earthly possible before you can get any damn perspective. But there was something about being in the shitty little hotel room, laying on the bed, still fully dressed, watching a roach crawl up the cracked plaster to the ceiling and I realized I goddamn fucking missed you.

I mean, I knew I missed you, right? Like sure, I'd think about you a lot, talking to strangers at shithole diners and they'd laugh or brush their hair back from their eyes or say something just the same damn way you'd have said it and it would hurt a little, deep in my stomach. But I could write it off as indigestion from traveling or whatever dumbfuck thing I saw fit to tell myself. Little harder to write off the moments I'd see something real fucking whack – like this time there were these three kids throwing punches in the median off I-75 somewhere in damn Ohio with their junked up Buick on the side of the road – and I'd laugh and turn to tell you how much it made me think of some dumb shit we did as kids and you wouldn't be there. Just my fucking guitar staring me in the face, like a shitty reminder, like a taunt, like a damn challenge – this is what you wanted, wasn't it? And yeah I'd swallow it back and say that it was and move on. Convinced myself you were just holding me back.

But I'd finally got there, right? Playing on the strip and all and that was supposed to be what I wanted but in that cheap ass room miles outside the city, the only damn place I could afford after nearly two years on the road, criss-crossing the damn country and seeing every landmark, every shithole dump and dive, I realized the only thing I wanted to see was you. I was here, I met my damn goal and still, my mind was so fucked up over  _you_. And I was angry. I was so goddamn pissed that you did this shit to me. You took this away from me – the one thing that would truly make me happy, my life, my music, and you took it and turned it into some bullshit about you. The way you always damn did. What – like I was supposed to come crawling home on my hands and knees, begging for you back?

Fuck if that's not exactly what I decided to do. Pretty stupid of me, really, but you know better than most I've never been the sharpest tool in the shed, really. Gotta beat the shit out of me before anything gets hammered through my thick skull and yet, ya know, you loved me anyway. Cheesiest fucking shit I ever thought, probably, and my eyes were blurry from tears I was damn well not going to cry as I stared down at my cell phone and still couldn't just fucking call you.

I kicked at my tire, cursing myself and the car and the bar and the whole goddamn world right then. You know – I don't do things right. I never fucking can. Every time I try it just turns into some huge clusterfuck where I look like an asshole and feel even worse and really I just wanted shit to go right this time. Just once. But there was me, downing drinks at the bar, trying to get up my damn nerve and I probably would've been fine, ya know – really, I probably would've, having driven drunk on these roads so many damn times when we were in high school or whatever – but fuck my luck that some dog had to run out into the road. And god knows I wasn't about to kill a fucking dog – not on my way to see  _you_.

So you know what I did? Me, the magnificent Duo Maxwell, arrogant, over-confident, always-gets-what-he-wants, lady slaying, guitar playing, genuine maverick and asshole extraordinaire? I sat down right there on the side of the road and cried.

I was just so damn close, ya know? I spent more days than I could even count imaging this on the backs of my eyelids in WalMart parking lots or fifty-buck motel rooms as I willed myself to sleep so I could drive through one more day. And it had already taken me so damn long to just admit it, to let go of my anger and just admit that it wasn't you – it was me. It was me that wanted you, it was me that ruined this for myself, doing everything the wrong damn way – doing it without you. You wanted to make it work and, you know, looking back I can see that. Shit. You were so willing to do so much for me, use all your damn PTO on me, drive hundreds of miles for me, and all I heard was you trying to hold me back. What a cunt.

And now, after all that shit, after two years, after finally admitting to myself that the only thing that was going to make me happy was you – I fucked it all up again. Car stuck in a ditch. For once I just really didn't want you to have to come fucking rescue me again, like always. For once I wanted to be the knight in shining armor. For once I wanted to damn rescue you. Shit! I wiped my snotty nose on my sleeve and stared up at the sky, wondering what god saw fit to curse me like this. But you know, never was good at taking responsibility for my own damn mistakes.

I guess that's when I decided it wasn't going to be like that this time. I mean, Jesus Christ, I was twenty-six for fucks sake. It was time to start acting like a goddamn adult.

Forcing my stiff legs to cooperate I stood, wiping at my eyes and staring down the long, dark road. Yeah, the lights were bad out there, but I only had a couple miles and this town surely hadn't change so much in the past two years that I wouldn't know the way back to your house. As if I didn't have it memorized by heart. As if anything could stop me from getting there.

I threw my guitar case over my shoulder, locked the car doors, and started to walk. Slow at first, you know, feeling uncertain, unsure. Thinking – maybe I should've just sucked it up and fucking called. And – maybe you weren't going to want to see me after all this time. It was late. Shit it'd be past midnight by the time I got there.

But you know, for once, I couldn't talk myself out of it. For once my stupid fucking self-confidence might've been beneficial to me and I started walking faster, each step a little bigger than the last, east step a little easier. Because when it comes right down to it, I knew you couldn't really be mad at me.

Okay, okay – so I've never done something this astronomically fucked up, I got that. I could see your face already, mouth contorted into that same little frown you always used when I screwed the pooch, shaking your head, sadly, all disappointed, like you just couldn't believe you fell in love with someone as fucking stupid as me. But then, you know, I knew I could kiss the frown better so it wasn't really much of a threat. Made me smile a little, actually, thinking of all the times you'd pulled that little number on me. Maybe you were just hoping one day it would work and I'd grow the fuck up.

Like that time after you bailed me out of jail for TP'ing old Noventa's house when I was twenty-two and should 'a damn knew better. After calling you to come pick me up while attempting to stumble home from that party at Hilde's, stoned out of my fucking mind. After talking you and the guys into skinny dipping down by the reservoir only to have that group of freshmen kids show up and take pictures on their cell phones and send 'em 'round to the whole damn school. Thank god cell phone technology was so bad back then huh?

After we got caught by the pastor's wife when I dared you to kiss me for the first time in the basement of the church while the little kids were making animals for Noah's ark out of construction paper and we were supposed to be supervising but damn if your lips weren't a little more interesting to sixteen year old me than glue sticks and scissors.

I don't regret it, ya know. I've often wondered if you did. You know, when my self-confidence is failing me and I wonder what the fuck a nice guy like you was doing with a big fucking jerk-off like me. Not like I had shit to offer you. Never had a steady job, only ever created problems for you, always running away – running from myself, running from my drunk ass dad, running from my mum's mental breakdowns, running from the thought I would die in this shithole town. Running from the truth of the matter being as I was scared and stupid and just plain inexperienced. I just wanted something better, ya know, something like in the movies. Something that would make my life seem like it was worthwhile and I was convinced I'd never find it here. And this? These poorly paved streets with their crappily maintained turn of the century houses and peach trees? This was home for you and I didn't want to accept that. This wasn't  _my_  home, I told myself. This wasn't where I belonged.

Stupid fucking dumbass me. Couldn't figure out that my home was wherever you were.

I don't know, that just made me grin even more. God I was fucked up. Walking through the streets at night like a hobo, grinning like a lunatic, having spent two years hiding from you, knowing I've fucked things up royally, knowing there was a chance you wouldn't even want to see me, but still. Just knowing, finally fucking  _knowing_  that this was where I really belonged – it filled me with a warmth that was far more potent than alcohol. I couldn't help but smile.

Not that I wasn't nervous or whatever – still pretty damn sure you were going to kick me down your porch steps. But hey, I was back. No, I was  _home_. And I had plenty of time to wheedle my way back into your heart. That, I was sure of. That damn self-confidence of mine, right?

I don't know how fucking long I'd been walking, at least an hour – maybe two – but I did know a couple things. I was cold. My feet hurt. And I was still smiling when I turned down your street.

It was like nothing had changed. I mean, sure, it was dark out so anything I saw was illuminated only by the shitty streetlights, but still. It looked just the same – except that crazy old coot Howard painted his house some new alarming color I could only vaguely make out. But it wasn't yellow any more. I could just hear Mrs. Catalonia bitching about it now. Fuck if it didn't make me smile more.

But when I walked up the steps to your front door, sudden nervousness made my stomach clench and the smile on my face was hard to maintain. Should 'a probably just spent the night in the car or something, waited for the cops to come by and tow me out. But you know – stubborn me. Just had to see ya. And anyway I didn't want you to find out through the rumor mill that I was back. Wanted to see you first. Wanted to make sure I didn't lose my nerve.

My finger still trembled on the doorbell. I'm not too big a man to admit it, or whatever. I was scared shitless as I waited, not even sure after all this time what I was going to say when I saw you. Dumbass. You'd think I might've thought about that somewhere over the past month – or at least the two hour long walk to your door. But you know me better than anyone – so I guess you wouldn't be expecting any fancypants speeches or heartfelt poetry spewed out on your doorstep.

And even though I was basically shaking in my boots here when I heard you approach the door, saw the knob turn and all... I wish you could appreciate how damn nice it was to see you. Fuck. Even all bleary-eyed from sleep in some old ass holey t with our high school mascot emblazoned across it and faded plaid pants – you were perfect. You hadn't changed at all it seemed and the blast of nostalgia hit me like a goddamn freight train and I swallowed, unable to do much else but stare. Fuck – I wanted to touch you. Reach out and brush that stupid hair from your face, look into your eyes, and just stare, just take you all in and know that it was going to be okay now. We were together again and I wouldn't be lonely any more, I wouldn't feel like this big ass piece of my heart was missing.

"Duo?" you asked then, sounding dumbfounded, glancing in the driveway for my car, I guess. I wanted to laugh. What did you think? I just fell outta the sky like a damn fallen angel or some shit?

"Yeah, it's me," I said back, not really much more articulate I guess but fuck if I didn't just walk a couple miles and you know. Whatever. I hadn't seen you in two years – you oughta cut me some damn slack, ya know?

"What are you doing?"

I wanted to laugh but instead I stuffed my hands in my pockets and shuffled my feet a little, looking down. You didn't ask me what I was doing there, right. Just asked me what I was doing because fuck all if anyone ever knew the answer to that question. And frankly, you probably knew what the fuck I was doing on your doorstep – better than I did. You were probably just waiting for this day. Didn't make me feel real great but you know – stubborn pride. Didn't want it to be like I was begging for you back – even if I was.

"I don't know, I just kinda... well," I stumbled, scratching the back of my neck like a damn idiot. "You know how it is. I guess I just missed ya, that's all."

You snorted, looking skeptical and leaning into the doorframe, studying me. Fuck – I wish you knew how damn intimidating it was to be on the receiving end of  _that_  look. Way worse than the frown and the disappointed head shake. It wasn't like I expected you to welcome me back with open arms or anything but... I just...

"So you decide to show up out of the blue at one in the morning, smelling like a brewery, after two years?" I could hear the disbelief in your voice but I hazarded a glance up and then I couldn't help but smile a little 'cause your expression softened a bit and I kinda knew I had you. Didn't mean you'd buy a bunch of bullshit from me or nothing, you know, but it was still encouraging after coming all this way.

"Well... maybe I realized I fucked up?" I offered with what I felt was an acceptable amount of chagrin. But I saw the way you rolled your eyes. Still, I was getting off damn easy. I knew it.

"What did you expect? That I'd just wait for you? Indefinitely? That you could just show up, walk in the door, and nothing would have changed?" Despite your composure, I could hear the tense, pissed undercurrent in your voice and I didn't really blame you. Expected worse, frankly.

"Nah, man." I shrugged, hands still deep in my pockets, but I figured I'd owed you that. "Just wanted you to know I was back an' all." I knew I sounded pretty fucking dumb but what else was there to say?

"You could've called."

Your voice was real damn soft and I know you didn't mean it, but the words hurt, ya know? Because I knew you weren't talking about just now, when I got back into town or whatever. I knew you meant sometime during the whole past two fucking years but you know me. You know why I didn't.

I shrugged again and dropped my gaze once more. It was just nice to see you, really, and I guess it was dumb to think I'd be invited in or something. That you would be anywhere near as excited about the prospect of seeing me as I was about seeing you. After all, I'd hurt you. I'd hurt me too, ya know, but I had a while to reconcile that. This was a shock for you.

"Sorry 'bout that," I offered, honestly, no bullshit, and I think it was plain enough in my voice. And I looked up again one last time, smiling a little, sad though, as I studied your eyes – or at least what I could see of them. "Guess I'll see ya 'round."

Didn't really wait for a reply – didn't really see the point – as I turned to hop down the steps and go... fuck knows where. Back to the car I guess. Good ol' Howard might 'a let me in but then, ya know, one in the morning and all and you were probably the only person I'd get away with pulling that particular stunt with.

"Duo?" you called after me and I paused but I sure didn't turn around. "Where's your car?"

I chuckled a little but there was no smile on my face and damn straight I wasn't about to show you that. Still had a bit of a front to put up and all.

"Funny story, that," I said, trying to be humorous though it came out flat.

I heard you move across the creaking boards of the porch before I felt the tug on the sleeve of my jacket, so I expected it, but then I guess I didn't really expect what you said next.

"You know, if you need to crash here tonight, my couch is always open," you offered and damn.

There's so much shit I could say – how you'd always damn just  _been_  there for me. Never asked any questions, never expected anything. Even before we were dating or whatever, together, you know, still – still you never hesitated to offer me a hand. Wondered how many damn times you were dropped on your head as a baby to make you that fucking stupid but I felt my eyes watering again and I swiped at them, desperate not to make any bigger an ass of myself than I already had.

"You sure?" I asked, turning around a bit hesitantly, not really wanting to meet your eyes but then needing to see if you were being honest or just being nice. Sure as shit wasn't about to stay here courtesy of your damn pity.

"Always," you repeated, real earnest, stroking the hair back from your face and brushing it ineffectively behind one ear. "You  _know_  that."

"I –" I wanted to argue, but what was there to say? What, was I really gonna turn down your hospitality for once? Like, what the fuck did I come all the way out here for then? Just to not let you be who you were? Just to reject your stupidly blind affection? The same affection I was counting on five minutes ago before my finger hit your doorbell?

"Thanks," I finished, mumbling the singular word out in embarrassment as you lead me back into the house.

Guess you'd said all you had needed to say. But you were always short on words like that. I was the one talking for both of us. Too damn bad I never actually stopped to listen when you spoke. Promise I'll try to be better at that.

I set my guitar against the wall as you locked the door and made my way into the living room. It was dark, just the glow of the streetlights through the windows lighting up the place, but I could tell that nothing had changed. Despite what you'd said out there, it was like my whole life was left here, waiting for me to return – and it was a damn uncomfortable feeling. Made it even more fucking obvious what an asshole I'd been.

Sighing, I went to kick off my shoes, staring at that picture on the mantel of us at the carnival, me grinning like a lunatic with a mouthful of cotton candy and you looking exasperated and I guess that was just us, huh? Me fucking around and you sitting by in silence, letting me go. Almost couldn't believe you even still had a picture of me up. Means you must 'a thought about me, at least a little, and that made me bite my lip. Maybe it'd have been easier if you had damn well moved on. Maybe I wouldn't feel so fucking guilty.

But just then your arms encircled me from behind, holding me close, the warmth of your body and the smell of your skin and shampoo so damn familiar made my heart pound against my ribs and I ached for that – god, fuck did I ache. Just to feel you this close to me again... Words can't begin to explain how much I'd fucking missed you. Way fucking more than even I had realized.

And Christ, the words you whispered against my neck then... Just two little goddamn words and I couldn't help it – big fucking tears rolled silently down my cheeks and my hands met yours, holding on so tightly I didn't think I'd ever be able to let them go.

"Welcome home."


End file.
